Tag Archives: skanks

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Ale Apothecary Sahalie, Thanatos Has Assembled all of the Saison Gems and Your World Is About To End

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It is not a well guarded secret that I love me some saisons. Shit, didn’t we do something like 34 days in a row of saison reviews? That’s what I thought. Anyway, this banger started some serious buzz on the top saison lists and at first I dismissed it as some farmhouse chicanery, but batch after batch it kept creeping higher and higher until I buckled and sought out this elusive farmhorse. Some people got their tampax all sideways when I said that this was rare, apparently 55 wants 4 gots wasnt rare enough for them. But landing this is kinda a bitch, so take that for what you will. Plus this bottle was like $30 or something, so you gotta ball outrageous to fucks with this. Let’s get to it.

As wit hmany of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn't pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

As with many of my other saison reviews, I swear I didn’t pour this like a dicktouch. These saisons come out like broken washing machines.

The Ale Apothecary
Oregon, United States
Saison / Farmhouse Ale | 11% ABV (Jan 2013 release)

A: This is just outright beautiful and pours a hazy turbid orange with bright gold hues at the edges. The cabonation is ridiculous and almost to the point of being obnoxious i.e. Upland Lambic steeze. The soapy bubbles keep on coming and its like bath time for the farm hands. The lacing is also pretty ridiculous making the inside of your glass looking like a Baroque sex party, lace and frills all over the place.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

If you think you are a saison expert, you probably are a raging pussy. I should know, I am a saison expert and no one can beat my ass.

S: This has an incredible nose to it at low temperatures. In fact, let me condition this entire review by noting that at 45 degrees and 60+ degrees this beer is an entirely different experience. When very cold you get this light acidity, pears, melon, lemon grass, floral hibiscus sort of earthiness but a big juiciness to it. As it warms, this thing pulls out its 11% dick and pounds your nosehole with careless abandon. It gets this really offputting fusel and astringent quality and reminds me of pissing off the saison Hulk. You wont like this beer when it is angry.

T: Again, when this beer is cold, it is mindblowingly good and absolutely world class. If you have had Handfarm, think of that but a juiced up imperial version. If you had Clos Preal batch 1 then you will know exactly the high abv saison beat I am talking about. This presents apricot, acidity almost like a musky beatification with less tartness, apple skin, honeydew, lemon and a sorta of parmesan cheese musk that lingers with the juiciness after you swallow. This is just phenomenal. When this beer gets warm, watch out because shit gets real pretty quickly. It gets this heat to it like an imbalaned Belgian Tripel with this boozy pineapple meets gin ester that is really offputting. It is incredible that a beer can be both world class and hateful at the same time. A truly bipolar bitch.

With an 11% saison, part of me things someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

With an 11% saison, part of me thinks someone pulled a nasty trick on me. BUT I LIKE IT.

M: This maintains a nice lip smacking dryness with a lingering oakiness to it not unlike fresh Temptation. The acidity is restrained and the abv is masked in a way that is staggering. IF you have a sorority girl you want to put to sleep, this beer will do the trick. “Date rape jokes are not funny” I agree, but we can all agree that having a quiet DG is a vast improvement in any situation. This is exceptionally refreshing at low temps and just starts flipping over card tables if you dont watch your glass at higher temperatures.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable as long as you get to it fast and dont let those sticky alcoholic tones spread their wings. If you sit on this its like a colony of zergling eggs that just need some incubation. You go from exceptional funk and musk, light lemons to face melting pineapple liqueur in a matter for 25 minutes. Again, take all of this under the caveat that you cannot just take Sahalie out to a seafood dinner and expect to hit the sheets. You have to put that saison time in and really enjoy this under the right conditions, otherwise things get out of hand really quickly. It is like “This is the best beer I have had in a long ti- OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME THATS WHERE I POOP FROM-” and the kid is pointing out what the saison did to you on a doll in pretrial proceedings.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don't give a fuck.

Tell me how easy this beer is to land. I don’t give a fuck.

Narrative: Dwayne Johnson was a mild mannered tier of the rural Texas community within the pleasant town of Elderton. His tan Grecian form lumbered to the mailbox and he waved to the mailman with an inviting smile. “Hey Big D!” Thomas Norse, the local postal officer waived to the monster of a human from across the street. As he walked inside he reviewed his Verizon bill and felt his traps pulse with a taut anger. “I…I am on the unlimited PLANNNN-” he thought angrily and clenched his jaw. Dwayne exhaled slowly and regained his cool composure and sat down to his usual breakfast of 2 eggs, 10 oz filet and oatmeal. “I dont see why they would charge me with OVERAGES WHEN I HAVE UNLIMITED ACCESS” he gripped his melon and fiercely bit into an apricot. He rounded the foyer of his house only to see that someone had writted “TOO FAST TOO FAGGOT” on the side of his tasteful raised Bronco. “THAT IS TOO MUCH!” he roared and tore away his tiny tank top revealing his massive frame. He was a gentle soul, but if you got him hot, his genial aspect converted quickly into a 250 lbs wrecking ball that even the most patient DMV employee could not console.

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@Hillfarmstead Double Citra, Double Down That Citra and Juicy J Gonna Pop It Like Wet Paint

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It’s been a minute since we went back to Vermont to see what those boys are up to in Greensboro. Now that Citra is a household hop right next to the Ajax and the baking soda, let’s go way back and enjoy this top 100 banger with a fresh liver. This beer would previously post up with Abner and Double Galaxy and push kids around the school yard, showing them how hops is done. Does it still bully the fuck out of newcomer DIPAs? We shall see in today’s revew. WE SHALL SEE.

Double Citra creepin on Double Citra. Citraception.

Double Citra creepin on Double Citra. Citraception.

Hill Farmstead Brewery
Vermont, United States

Style | ABV
American Double / Imperial IPA | 8.00% ABV

A: You already know how this cow eats the cabbage before you even pop that growler. You get an eggshell white foam that is just pumps out ropes and ropes of lacing like Peter North. Google him after you get home from work. The turbid borderline farmhouse look to this beer lets the consumer know two things 1) pasteurization is for playaz who dont be getting it and 2) that milky secret holds all the hops in the substrate like a male seahorse and all his spawn. The carb is indefatigable and crackles endlessly, taunting you, letting you know no one asked you to Sadies, reminding you of substandard DIPAs of the past and the messy hop IEDs of the future.

After having a DIPA like this, other double IPAs seem like a janky ass Samus.

After having a DIPA like this, other double IPAs seem like a janky ass Samus.

S: Some other breweries choose to buttress citra hops with something like oh I don’t know cascade, simcoe; you know something to give structure to the acidic citrus aspects. This beer just says fuck all that and goes ham on the citrus notes. It is like a Farmer’s Market of tangerines, mandarin oranges, clementines, and nectarines. There is a light honey at the backend and some Grand’s biscuits going on just to make old Grammy smile at this hop builder straight flexing its traps.

T: This follows the nose pretty congruently and makes you feel as though you may have tread this path before in Society and Solitude, or perhaps to a lesser extent Abner. You get a lil aserose poking its head out of its knothole with the first sign of spring, then this turns into a straight up Gushers/Fruitopia commercial of juiciness and everyone is getting mouthfucked with oranges, lemon zest, cuties, and every manner of citric acid. This isn’t a fruiter berliner sort of acidity though, it is like a TOOL fan’s room with a stick dankness of oils and a bright glow of a blacklight hop cone poster. It is bright, bold but almost menacing in the way it just pushes your palate down into a swivel chair and demands the access codes.

Gather up your favorite off shelf DIPAs and prepare for your old heros to look like shit.

Gather up your favorite off shelf DIPAs and prepare for your old heros to look like shit.

M: This is hoppy and cirtus forward to the point of being drying along the gumline. If you have ever had beers that go hard on the Tomahawk/Warrior you know what I mean but this is a little different. It isn’t exactly a resinous bully that tears up your bicuspid walls, because there is almost a sort of yogurty creaminess to it. It’s like a hop gangster who flips a coin, shoots your friend and lovingly puts its arm around your gumline. Shit starts popping off in all kinds of directions like Hmong family reunion.

D: This is almost frustratingly drinkable. The 750ml swingtop is a mockery for this beer and shouldn’t even be an offsite option. It is akin to a single song dance at a strip club when you know you are gonna be tipping up. Once it is gone, you feel like that nursing student crawling around the floor collecting the one dollar bills, dancing your way through school. The carbonation just adds to the problems because the crack and substantial coating in the creaminess lends itself to foregoing contemplation of what you are enjoying. One minute you are just contemplating going to see Pain & Gain, the next minute Double Citra is gone and you are asking to speak to a lawyer.

Oh shit you used Citra in your homebrew IPA? Man time to enter that at GABF, girls will love you.

Oh shit you used Citra in your homebrew IPA? Man time to enter that at GABF, girls will love you.

Narrative: Angus T. Jones was sick of this shit. He walked around the backlot and bit into a ripe tangerine and looked over the spec script for the 14th season. Two and a Half Men wouldn’t be the same without the half man, now almost two decades old. “Get my agent on the phone, I am sick of this fucking nonsense,” Angus called out to an associate producer and cast a Newport onto the pavement. At first things were sweet, when he was younger he was content with mediocrity, but this was too much. “Another fucking episode about me not fitting in at school? I am 19 fucking years old. The writers need to get their shit together!” he screamed into the DP’s voicemail. In the beginning it was easy to forget all of the mediocrity, which folded into itself like the membranes on a mitochondria. However the acidity had been punched up, his sticky distemper was affecting Ashton Kutcher and other serious artists on the set. “How about this, my character goes to the fucking Army? Ok? Or, I dont know, get an alien or an adopted kid. Do what shitty shows do when they become worse and worse to the point that Nascar fans wont watch them anymore. Yes, yes I did see the final season of Family Matters, do that shit,” he called into his iPhone 5 while texting one of the hot skeezies on iCarly. He was more acidic than he was deep, but he was more profound than others in his position. Angus Jones was an acerbic asshole that people could never seem to get enough of.